


It Feels Better Biting Down

by aybeexinfinity



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aybeexinfinity/pseuds/aybeexinfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically an excuse to write Iron Bull smut because I am in love with him. Some build-up at the beginning but the end is just smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains SPOILERS for the game!
> 
> Also, here is a playlist to listen to while you read if you please :)
> 
> http://8tracks.com/altair-ibn-la-ahad/i-want-to-do-bad-things-with-you

“I will see you back at Skyhold, Inquisitor.” Solas set off without a backward glance, his entire being a mixture of rage and despair. Though she did not understand the words exchanged between the mage and the spirit, she could hear the hesitant acceptance in his voice. They could not save the spirit of wisdom, but at the very least they had freed it from an existence that so deeply went against its existence.

“Should we pursue?” Cassandra asked the Inquisitor. She shook her head, watching as Solas disappeared behind the distant rocks.

“He will return to us when he’s ready. Whatever good we managed, I don’t think it outweighs the loss. However…” She paused to turn to the remainder of her group. A Seeker and a Qunari, the three of them lacking any magical abilities. “We are one short of a full squad, so we should head back too. We’ve done enough in the Plains for now.”

The group began the trek back to the base camp so they could prepare for the return to Skyhold. Along the way, the Inquisitor was making note of what still needed to be done in the immediate future. She would need status reports on the excavation of Ghilan’nain’s Grove, along with whatever advances Josephine had made in the latest trade negotiations. Leliana would want a report of what happened with Solas so her agents could keep an eye out for him.

“Ah, shit.” Bull groaned at the sight before them. Trevelyan didn’t need to turn to see what had him concerned: the mark on her hand burst into life. She stood for a moment debating whether to take an alternative route, and caught the look on Cassandra’s face that said she was thinking the same thing. But they came to a decision simultaneously: it was not just to leave demons wandering the area. Any deaths that happened between their departure and their return to the spot would be entirely on her shoulders.

“Come on, let’s do this.” She said with renewed motivation, pulling out her daggers and heading towards the giant glowing rift.

“Right behind ya, boss.” The Qunari promised as the three of them charged into battle. The truth was, they had faced _far_ worse fade rifts than the one before them: a small mercy from the Maker. They managed to deal with the rage demon without and significant injuries, and disposed of all the wraiths before the Inquisitor finally pulled the rift shut.

The Inquisitor quickly looked back at the Iron Bull and Cassandra to make sure they were fine before putting her daggers away. Glancing down at her hand, she winced as a deep pain throbbed through the mark. The pain deepened so gravely that it forced her to her knees, hand shaking furiously. Cassandra cried out her name and she looked up in an attempt to calm her worries, but she realized the mark was not what had her attention. Both the Seeker and the Qunari were rushing towards her, eyes fixed on the sight behind her.

Turning quickly, a flash of black fur and sharp teeth leapt at her. The attempt to move out of the way failed entirely, and the great wolf sank its teeth into her side. The Inquisitor struggled to get her blades and defend herself but the animal twisted its jaw to deepen its grip. The Inquisitor fought against the animal, hitting it with her fists again and again, but salvation came in the form of a great looming shadow. The Iron Bull grabbed hold of the wolf’s jaws to pry them open and lifted the animal entirely before snapping its neck on his knee with a roar.

Immediately clutching at the blood-soaked area, the Inquisitor watched in the distance as Cassandra lodged her blade into the skull of another wolf and turned back to her. Determined to be fine, the Inquisitor got to her feet. Instead, she stumbled and winced and bit back the groans of pain. It hurt. A lot.

“You are injured.” Cassandra said gravely, placing her hand on the Herald’s shoulder but looking up at the Bull. “We must get her to a healer.”

“I got this.” The Iron Bull said, picking up the wounded rogue with ease. Hooking an arm under her legs and getting a good grip, he nodded to the Seeker. Cassandra, blade at the ready, began to lead them back to camp.

“ _Unbelievable_.” Trevelyan hissed, clutching at her side with one hand while using the other to grip the Qunari’s shoulder harness. “I can close holes in the fabric of our universe that spit out _demons_ with my bare hand, but I get blindsided by what? A _dog_?”

“Well…technically, it was a wolf.” Iron Bull offered in her defense, looking down at her with his good eye. “A big one.”

“Thanks, by the way.” She managed, wincing as he shifted her to get a better grip. The fact was this was probably one of the worse injuries she’d gotten since everything had begun. The whole situation reminded her of what had happened after haven. Hopelessly wandering through the snow with only a vague sense of the right way to go, her whole body aching and her mind still reeling. When she’d finally made it to the vantage point where the survivors of Haven could be seen, she collapsed. Iron Bull had offered for him and his Chargers to assist in keeping watch, and he’d roared down to Cassandra and Cullen when he finally caught sight of the Inquisitor.

“No problem, boss.” He promised, looking around constantly to better prepare for any possible threats. He’d done the same thing in the frostbacks: carried her broken body to safety. He could be uncharacteristically gentle for someone so huge and deadly. Yet he had brought her all the way down to the makeshift camp, pausing only to allow Cullen to put his cape over her in an attempt to offer some warmth. Hell, he’d even stuck around by her side while her advisors went off to argue about what needed to be done next. She had never imagined to find such a steadfast friend in a Qunari mercenary, and yet she had. Between the Bull, Cassandra, and Dorian, she had found the close ties she had lacked all her life.

At least on the Exalted Plains things were relatively less volatile and unknown. The threat of the undead and demons littering the ramparts had been dealt with, but the Freeman of the Dales still loitered the place—and, evidently, packs of wolves. Still, though, it was better than worrying about having Corypheus and an archdemon on her tail. It was better than knowing behind her was only death and ahead of her was a mystery. Here, she knew what awaited her.

The camp. One of many they had established throughout Thedas, and she was very thankful for the fact in that moment. When the group of them was close enough, Cassandra rushed ahead to arrange for help. The Bull spent the time teasing her for not having good enough armor, and she promised that if he had decent schematics that didn’t weigh her down she was all for an upgrade.

“Bring her here.” Cassandra ordered, the soldiers at the camp standing far back from the Qunari as he carried their wounded Herald to a tent. Getting down onto his knees, Bull gently eased her onto the cot and slowly slid his hands from under her. Immediately the healer pried off her leathers and shirt, shooing the companions out while instructing an assistant to gather materials.

No time was wasted in cleaning the wound and applying elfroot salve in an attempt to keep infection away. With some stitches and a cloth wrap, she would make it back to Skyhold where a mage could properly heal her. Dorian would give her hell and complain about the effort it took to minimize scarring, but he would heal her just the same.

When the Inquisitor limped out of the tent, as covered as she could manage with the pain, her companions looked over immediately. She gave a nod to promise she was fine before sitting next to Cassandra. Neither of them needed to tell her that she needed to put on a good show: it didn’t do much for morale for soldiers to see their leader as breakable.

“We should leave now.” Cassandra stated, getting to her feet. “We can stop along the way if we must, but I would not risk the Herald’s injuries.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Bull asked, raising an eyebrow and looking over at the Inquisitor.

“Cassandra can protect us from anything.” The Inquisitor teased, earning a blank look from the Seeker. It wasn’t exactly a joke, because Cassandra _could_ defend them against nearly everything.

They packed what they needed for the journey back and saddled up, the Inquisitor getting help from Iron Bull to get up on her Hart. The Seeker went first and the Qunari brought up the rear: a guard escort instead of companions. She knew it would not be a comfortable few days, riding with the injury, but at least her company was good. The best, in fact.

When they stopped for rest, Trevelyan found herself wondering if Solas was faring alright on his own if _this_ had happened to her with two others around. Then she remembered Varric’s teasing about her divine bad luck, and decided that the elf had better fortune than she did. Still, she worried for him. The Inquisitor had never known true grief, had never had ties close enough with others to warrant deep sorrow in the event of loss. She had attended as many funerals as dances in Ostwick, but never shed a tear. No part of her knew how Solas felt, but as she looked at her companions she realized she could imagine it. She _had_ seen it in the mess that happened in Redcliffe with Alexius.

The Iron Bull seemed to catch on to the fact that she was spiralling into bad thoughts, and effortlessly drew her out of her mind with jokes and a demand that she learn how to play Wicked Grace with him.

He was a lot less enthusiastic when she’d won fifteen sovereigns from him.


	2. Chapter 2

“To killing a high dragon like warriors of _legend_!”

Two mugs full of something horridly potent clinked together, and the two of them chugged the liquid. It made the Inquisitor’s eyes sting and throat burn still, but it she was proud of the fact that she still stood. The way Bull had put it, the stuff should have knocked her on her ass.  Instead, it gave her a whole-body buzz that spurred her to her feet. From the tavern she gathered anyone willing and ready to have some fun.

Varric was first to join the party, pleased to be able to see _her Inquisitorialness_ doing something other than killing with terrifying precision. Sera came along too, and even their resident Grey Warden followed the group of them for some fun. They had encountered and taken down the great Ferelden Frostback, and about a dozen of her offspring; though fires likely still burned in the Northern Hinterlands, they had achieved something great.

“Do you know what I’ve always wondered?” Blackwall asked aloud as they gathered around the Inquisitor and the Iron Bull at the bar. “Whether Varric or Sera is truly the more skilled marksman.”

“Time for some competition pish then, yeah?” The elf said with a grin, crossing her arms.

“Well it won’t be much of a competition with Bianca, I’m afraid.” Varric countered smoothly, nodding to an announcement posted on the wall of the tavern. “There _is_ a reason we’ve been barred from that challenge.”

“Pfft.” Sera stuck her tongue between her lips and made annoying noises of disagreement.

“This oughtta be good.” Bull said with a grin, refilling his mug before the group of them wandered outside. Blackwall set up some targets commandeered from the training areas, and leaned against the wall the Inquisitor sat upon. The Iron Bull stood on her other side and the three of them watched as Sera marched in front of them, armed and ready. Varric sauntered over as well, Bianca slung over his shoulder.

“Ladies first.” The dwarf said with a sly smile, gesturing towards the hay-filled targets. Sera barely paid him any attention, and simply lined up a shot. Firing almost immediately, the arrow flew through the air and landed right in the middle of the target.

“Eat it!” She laughed gleefully, twirling the bow around her wrist. Varric stepped up, pulling the crossbow off of his shoulder and effortlessly loosing an arrow of his own. The group of them looked on as it split Sera’s well-placed shot right down the middle.  With a frown, she quickly shot the next three targets perfectly in the middle. Varric matched her on each one, making a smartass remark that fuelled her rage.

Blackwall stepped forward and offered a change in the game: throwing the targets so they had something moving to aim at. The two of them were more than happy to oblige, and the games continued. Bull took a long drink from his mug before offering some to the Inquisitor. She agreed, having mastered the small mercy of not choking on the stuff by now.  But she was _definitely_ feeling its influence.

The Warden had tossed the targets through the air in different directions half a dozen times now, calling out when they were to shoot. The Inquisitor began to understand how pointless this show was: they were simply both too skilled. And yet, just when she was ready to call an end to it, a loud crashing noise sounded out through the courtyard. Trevelyan looked up with wide eyes at the shattered glass doors on the balcony of her quarters.

“Thank you, _very_ much for that.” She said sarcastically, shaking her head. Now there was reason for their actions to be chastised. Whether by Cassandra or Josephine first, she could not know.

“He did it!” Sera cried out of reflex, sprinting away. Varric shouldered the crossbow and looked around all the bullseyed targets.

“I guess this means I win?” The dwarf asked with a smirk. Blackwall seemed to agree but the Inquisitor shook her head.

“This is one matter I refuse to rule a judgement on.” She said in an attempt at sternness, but the way she swayed and slurred a little betrayed her.

The four of them formed a circle as Varric began to tell one of his tales. It was one of believable betrayal and larger-than-life outcomes, but they all indulged in it nonetheless. It was what made a story good: the desire to forget about what should mark it as false. At some point Blackwall returned with more drinks for everyone, and at the foot of the stone steps that led to the main hall they laughed and joked and were swept up in stories true and embellished.

“This was a good idea, Inquisitor.” Blackwall nodded, arms crossed over his chest. He looked around at their group as the conversation lulled, everyone rosy-cheeked from laughter and good ale. “Dragons should be vanquished more often.”

“We can always return to Crestwood in the morning to take on the one with an affinity for electrocution, Ser Warden.” She challenged, knowing that although they had accomplished the feat it did not make them invincible.

“Perhaps on the morrow. For now, I’ve a hankering for sleep.” He said, draining the rest of his drink.

“The night is still young,” She said defiantly, looking between Bull and Varric to gauge their desire to follow suit of the Warden. With sudden resolve and a lapse in inhibition courtesy of the alcohol, she clambered up onto the wall and climbed onto the Bull’s back. Her hands locked around his neck and with a jump her legs pressed against his sides. “To the barracks! We will let all of Thedas know of our victory over the beast!”

The Iron Bull led out a laugh and unquestioningly supported her legs as he stood up from against the wall. She knew that despite the danger of falling to her death from up so high on the barracks existed, the Qunari wouldn’t allow it to happen. Because he was always looking out for her; his wild-eyed, fire-haired rogue. He was growing a soft-spot for her and she knew it.

“I think I’ll sit out this adventure too.” Varric said with a smile she couldn’t quite place. The Inquisitor looked down at the dwarf and watched as his eyes went from the Qunari to her and back. He took a small bow and turned to the stairs. “The Seeker still needs the next chapter of _Swords and Shields_ , after all.”

“He is _never_ going to let her live that down—you know that, right boss?” The Qunari asked of her, turning as much as he could to look at her. She laughed lightly and nodded.

“Of course, but she’ll get over it. And deep down be very happy for it.” The Inquisitor said matter-of-factly. With a shrug Bull got a better grip on her and headed towards the stairs that would lead them up to the barracks as she’d wanted. She rested her chin on the top of his head, holding her arms a little tighter around his neck.

Cullen had passed them on the way to his office and gave a sleepy farewell that almost made her regret being as loud as they bellowed to the mountains and practiced dragon roars.  She was taken by a fit of laughter and nearly lost her grip on him, but his reflexes were still quick enough to grab her arms before she fell.

When she slid off his back she was wobbly on the landing, but he helped steady her. The Inquisitor leaned against the sturdy stone walls of Skyhold and looked out at the Frostback Mountains, at the clear night sky, and the road that was being fixed so those making the trek up to their fortress had an easier time. It made her feel spread out and distant, it made her feel as though she could float in and out of existence for all the space around her. But she couldn’t. Not the Inquisitor. Not the Herald of Andraste.

But her companions made that hard truth a little easier to stomach. Because regardless of whether they agreed with what she decided, they always had her back. They trusted her implicitly, for better or worse. She looked over at the Qunari, the mercenary leader, and a small smile took over her features. He would follow her into battle anywhere, and in a way she would too. No part of her doubted his loyalty, his intentions, his willingness to be the frontline bodyguard he had originally promised to be. As much as she adored Cassandra and Dorian, it was The Iron Bull who she related to most, despite their obvious differences. The part of him deep down that made up who he was came from the same place that her core did. And he never did anything that made her feel ashamed of that realization.

“You okay, boss?” He looked over at the smile on her face and raised an eyebrow. She nodded, heaving out a sigh and looking back at the mountains.

“We conquered a _high dragon_ , Bull.” She mused in an airy voice. He let out a bellowing laugh and slapped his hands down on the stone. “Four of us took down that… _magnificent_ force of nature.”

“It _was_ magnificent.” He replied, reliving the memory in his mind. “That’s why you’re the best, boss. No one else makes time for _dragon hunting_ while they’re off saving the world from vints.”

“It made me…” The Inquisitor paused, looking down at the glowing mark on her hand. For a few moments she was quiet, but Bull was patient and didn’t push. He just waited for her to continue. “It made me think that…if we could accomplish something like that, then we can defeat Corypheus. Whatever he is—darkspawn, ancient magister—if we can kill a dragon, we can kill him too.”

“Kicking that vint’s blighted ass will _almost_ be as satisfying.” Bull agreed, turning to face her fully. At the action, she did the same. “You know how to fight, how to plan, how to think. Don’t go getting all self-depreciating and doubtful.”

With a deep sigh she nodded and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Bull.”

He lowered his head in a gesture of acknowledgement and asked if she was needing to call it a night. Trying to be good, she took a moment in an attempt to evaluate her current state. But in the back of her mind, she already knew that she wasn’t ready to leave, wasn’t ready to end their time together that wasn’t in the face of some immediate peril. With a definitive _no_ she shook her head.

 “Come on.” The Inquisitor said with sudden resolve, slapping the stone barrier. “I think we’ve got a bottle of Chasind Sack Mead in the cellar.”

The journey to the cellar did not mark the end of the evening, merely the end of her recollection. At some point she made it to a place safe enough to sleep, and she fell wholly unconscious. No dreams, no nightmares, no mid-night pains from the mark on her hand. No interruptions. Just a long and deep slumber in the safety of Skyhold.

When sleep released her, it was to the unforgiving backlash that her body had waiting for her. Her head was hammering, throat burned, and she was certain from the way she ached that there would be new and blossoming bruises to find when she made it to a mirror. The first thing she did was groan and try to shift in a way that would make her hurt less, but in moving she realized that she was not in fact in her bed or alone. From the massive arm draped across her stomach, the Inquisitor figured it was Bull that she was half curled against. Begrudgingly she opened her eyes a little, but immediately panicked at the realization she could only see through one.

“Maker.” She hissed, trying to sit up but lacking the strength. She reached her hand back and nudged the Iron Bull awake as frantically as her body would allow. He growled but began to stir nonetheless. “Am I—Bull, am I _blind_?”

After a moment of silence Iron Bull let out a deep laugh, patting her on the stomach before removing his arm from around her. In one movement he reached down and tugged at something on her face. When it was gone she could see properly again, and she sighed in relief before tilting back her head to see what it was. He was holding his silver eye patch that, through the night’s activities, had somehow ended up on _her_.

“What the _hell_ happened last night?” Trevelyan asked aloud in a raspy voice. She tried to sit up again, truly determined, but the rush of blood to her head sent her crashing back down onto the Qunari’s chest with another groan.

“You drank enough to keep up with the Iron Bull, that’s what happened.” He said as he shifted under her a little. “And…I’m pretty sure something got broken…or multiple somethings. So all in all, a good time.”

The Inquisitor tried to filter through her foggy memory for evidence of what had happened the night before. She knew, from the fact that she was fully clothed and didn’t have an ache between her legs, that nothing had happened between her and Bull. Not that the idea of it was entirely unwelcome, but in her experience things like that were better reserved—for the first time at least—for times of relative sobriety.

“I feel like death.” She murmured, looking up at the sky through the hole in the roof. In the back of her mind the Inquisitor was making a note to check on the status of Skyhold’s remodelling, but in the forefront of her mind she was starting to remember things from the night before. _The tavern… drinks… stories… arrows…_ **dragon**. They had been celebrating their triumph over the dragon they’d slain in the Hinterlands. At the realization she sat up straight, ignoring the objection from her body. “Where’s my skull?”

“Uh, boss?” He raised an eyebrow at her sudden outburst, arms folded behind his head. “Maybe you uh… need to recover still.”

“No, no, not _my_ skull—my _dragon_ skull.” She got to her feet and stumbled, the mercenary reaching out by reflex to steady her. Trevelyan patted his arm in silent gratitude and found her footing. “I’m going to mount that thing in the main hall. Maybe I should use it as the throne…”

“Now _that_ is a good idea.” He grinned, sitting up with ease and cracking his neck. “But don’t put anything on it. No paint or jewels or any of that noble crap. Just raw, bloodstained bone and teeth.”

“It’ll definitely make a statement.” The inquisitor said with a smile. It faded slightly as a thought came to her. “Josephine is going to have a fit.”

“Ahh, she’ll get over it.” He insisted, getting to his feet. The Inquisitor searched for her boots and managed to pull them on, recovering more by the minute but still feeling beat down. “You might want to go see one of your mages to help with that hangover.”

“I should…but later.” She nodded for him to follow. “Come on, I need some muscle around to help move the skull to the main hall.”

“Hey, uh, boss…” The Iron Bull hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as she lingered at the door. Turning to him, she raised her eyebrows waiting for him to talk. “You know that people are going to think we fucked, right?”

The Inquisitor blinked once and then shrugged her shoulders. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What about you?” Bull asked as she lowered the stick in her grasp. She’d spent the last ten minutes beating him with it in some Qunari exercise to deal with your fears. He rotated his shoulder once and cracked his neck before taking a step close. “Anything my ass-kicking Inquisitor needs to deal with all that demon shit?”

Adamant had been a clusterfuck. And as unnerving as it was being in the Fade physically, as hard as it was for her knowing she’d brought Bull to probably the _last_ place he’d ever want to go, she felt more at ease knowing he’d been right behind her. _Enjoying the view_ , he’d teased. She toyed with the dragon-tooth necklace around her neck, a symbol of her relentless commitment to him, and had never been more thankful for her boldness. And for _his_ , too. Or else they might have never ended up here, together.

Of course she’d always been somewhat attracted to him, although at first it was definitely strange and something she tried to ignore. But the more time they spent together, the closer they became, at one point something clicked and she just wanted more. And he was definitely happy to oblige.

“What I _need_ …” She began, leaning close and dropping her voice. The Inquisitor was well aware that there were many people around, and despite being out of earshot there would be no doubt of their exchange. “Is for The Iron Bull to make me come.”

A smirk spread across his face and she turned from him, heading up the large stone steps into the main hall. He walked after her with determined steps, and she tried to pinpoint when the change had happened that she had begun to _need_ him so badly. Not just for sex, but she craved his presence in her low moments and high. She was comforted in the fact that he evidently felt the same: he openly called her _kadan_ and had no problem translating the term for anyone who inquired. He was not ashamed by his feelings towards her and made no effort to hide them. In fact, he could do with a little tone down sometimes. Like not brazenly propositioning her in the middle of the tavern.

As they exited the hall and began the climb to her private quarters, she turned back to look at him. Her heart felt swollen when she looked at him, in a way that scared her. Never had the Inquisitor felt a feeling so deeply. It made her wonder if it would be something that could only burn hot and fast, something that would only last a short time. But what scared her even more was that she was so very comfortable with the idea of the opposite. The Inquisitor was sweet on the idea of the Qunari being at her side for whatever future was hers. She gave him a small smile and he returned it—before reeling his hand back and slapping her ass.

Iron Bull sat down on the couch and nodded for her to stand in front of him, then demanded her to strip. She gave him a smirk of her own before complying, beginning with her boots as he did the same. They’d done this enough times for her to know the pacing now: slow with the shirt, one button at a time, leave everything covered until the big reveal. As if he hadn’t seen her naked a hundred times already. And yet, that was always how he treated it—as if it was the first time seeing her. Always marveling at the sight of her, coming at her with a hunger for something withheld yet the familiar thirst of a favourite drink. The Inquisitor watched him stiffen slightly when she finally pried the shirt and breastbind off her body.

Taking off pants was always tricky to make look good, but she’d figured out that if she turned her back to him he liked to take in the sight of her ass as the fabric fell to the floor. He motioned for her to stop before she could remove her smallclothes, getting to his feet and towering over her. The Inquisitor slid her hands up his chest and worked off the harness he wore, letting it gently thud on the ground. Laying his hand on her cheek, he lingered it there for a moment before sliding it into her fiery red hair. _Always a weakness for the redheads_. He took a step toward her that forced her backwards, and they continued this drawn-out shuffle until she was on the bed. He crawled after her, kneeling between her legs, and leaned down to kiss her.

“I want your mind to go blank.” He said in a soft voice, nipping at her bottom lip. “Right here, you are safe. It’s just you and me, and how you will feel.”

Reaching up to the post of the oversized Orlesian bed, he removed the two lengths of silk that he’d bought from Val Royeaux explicitly for this purpose. Taking one hand at a time, he pressed his lips to her wrists before binding them to the bed frame above her head in a way that ensured her comfort but kept her hands at bay. In this space, he made all the decisions. He was in complete control. Her only job was to come for him, and he took his duty very seriously. With gentle hands he tied black fabric over her eyes, kissing her softly at first before deepening the kiss.

All restrained like this, she had no choice but to feel things even more. Without her sight, she was so much more tuned into every touch. He started off easy, letting his fingers trace patterns all over her exposed skin, before following the trails with his lips. Everywhere he kissed left a wetness that the cool mountain air rushed to make her feel. Nose trailing along her neck, his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin. The Inquisitor took a sharp breath in as he brought his hands down to her breasts, pinching at her nipples. He brought his lips down on one, using his tongue to ring circles while his right hand matched pace on the other. A stifled moan escaped her and he began to work her even harder, using his teeth to lay claim to her body. As if she wasn’t already tattooed with his bite marks. The healers had been worried when they’d first seen her that way, but they had gone completely silent when the Inquisitor explained they were courtesy of her Qunari.

The Iron Bull knew all of her spots by now. _Ben-hassrath training_ , he liked to tease. Returning to her lips to kiss her, she could feel his breath against her skin. Her whole body was on edge, a tense burning building up in her core. There was no chance of her playing coy, of her acting as if she didn’t entirely need him. Her body betrayed her, curling up towards him in an attempt to bring back his touch. He let his right hand slide down her body and under the fabric of her smallclothes, teasing her clit. A desperate moan escaped her immediately, legs pressing together in an attempt to keep his hand there. With a dark laugh he licked her neck and bit at it again, allowing her the blissful build-up of running his finger along her slit.

“I’ve barely even started.” He said in a low voice at the feeling of wetness between her legs. “You’re losing your edge, _Kadan_.”

“More.” She managed through shallow breaths, arching up towards him. She could feel the overwhelming presence of his body above hers. In all honesty, despite the fact that he would never bring her harm, it was the fact that he was so _capable_ of breaking her let alone anything else that was part of what turned her on. He was raw power, absolute strength, unbridled bloodlust. It reflected part of herself that she’d always had to keep hidden. But he manifested it in his own way and coaxed it out of her as well. “I need more.”

“The build-up is the best part.” Iron Bull vowed in a tone that drove her wild. She knew he wasn’t entirely telling the truth: he lived for the moments when she finally climaxed. “Do you want my lips on you? Tell me, _Kadan_ , do you want my tongue inside your cunt?”

“ _Yes_.” She breathed, desperation taking over her as he pulled away entirely. “Maker, yes.”

The Iron Bull let out a low laugh before trailing kisses down her throat, her chest, her abdomen. Without missing a beat he gripped her smallclothes between his teeth and began to tug them down. The Inquisitor lifted her hips so he could get them all the way off. When she was finally bare, he kissed all the way up her leg until he reached her inner thigh. His breath beat against her in gentle waves until he finally blessed her with the right touch.

The Qunari slid his tongue up her in a slow movement that ended at her clit, where he immediately worked at her. Biting at her lip, he forced panting moans from her throat. He had obviously had plenty of experience and opportunity to perfect the art—he bore no shame from his history—but _Maker_ was she glad that she was the one to receive the final presentation. He had devoted himself to her entirely, and she had done the same right back.

Reaching his left hand up her body, he began to work at her breast again. Without warning he slipped one finger all the way inside of her. Her whole body welcomed the gesture, wrists struggling against the restraints in an attempt to keep him doing exactly what he was. It was always strange at first to have no sight, to not see his face as he brought her such pleasure, but the heightened feel of his touch everywhere more than made up for it.

Starting off slowly, he began to move his finger in and out of her, teasing every inch inside of her. It was almost too much, having so much attention on her. But then again, she always felt that way. Even when he wasn’t using his tongue to work at her in tandem with his fingers. The Bull had a way of reminding her when she was least aware of it that she was very much cared for. Appreciated. Respected. And in moments like these, she gave back in the form of his name tumbling from her lips in a shaken prayer. A desperate plead for release. He always loved that, when she said his name. As if affirming that he had managed to clear her mind of everything except for him. A promise that he was on the right track.

“A lot louder.” He demanded, curling his fingers inside her. It made her body lurch forward as he brushed a sensitive spot inside of her. “I want them to hear you in every corner of Skyhold. _Scream for me_.”

The Qunari kissed her thighs before bringing his tongue back to her, tasting her as she quivered in his grasp. Her chest was heaving and he was enjoying the view, grunting in approval now and then. The sound vibrated through her skin and drove her wild. The Inquisitor obeyed, though, and she didn’t hold back the noises manifesting in her throat. Again and again they tumbled out of her, each time with greater volume and depth. And he loved it. Her toes were struggling for some kind of grip on the sheets beneath her as he grew ruthless with her. In that moment he decided it was time for her to come, and put everything into getting results. His hand moved fast but his tongue moved faster, so terrifyingly in tune with every move her body made. The closer she got, the more determined he was, to the point where she couldn’t bear it anymore.

“There’s a good girl.” He praised her moans, taking a moment to reclaim his hand and instead delve his tongue deep inside her. After only a few more moments, she came undone. The Inquisitor’s whole body shook and her eyes went wide under the blindfold, the sensation emanating from her core through to the tips of every limb. He kept at it, letting her ride out the climax and revelling in the sight of her so completely blind-sided with pleasure. If he should have stopped, he didn’t. He kept working at her, pinning her down with one huge arm when she began to squirm and tasting her every step of the way. “Don’t hold back, I _know_ you want to come for me again.”

At that point it didn’t matter if she wanted to or not: she did. It was his request and she had to comply. He had her completely at his mercy. When he finally released her she was beaded with sweat, her legs forced together out of reflex when he left her. The bed creaked under him as he sat up and got to his feet.

He took off her blindfold first, giving her a grin before kissing her. The restraints came off next, and she brought her hands to his face. He rested his forehead against hers and allowed her to revel there before she found the strength to sit up. She let her hand slide down his abdomen to the edge of his pants. With determined boldness she began to stroke him through the fabric. He looked down at her with an amused look, raising his eyebrow.

“I need you inside me.” She admitted brazenly, still starving for his touch after everything. He gave her a sly grin and tilted her chin up towards him.

“I _was_ inside you, _Kadan_.” He teased, defiant as ever. But the Inquisitor had no time for games.

“Please, Bull.” Her fingers gripped at him with more certainty, losing all air of subtlety. He was good at finding her weak spots, but she was good at finding his too. His eyes closed briefly at the feel of her touch.

“Mmm, again. I love it when you beg.” As he looked down at her, she was suddenly amused at the thought of what all her highborn relatives and countryfolk would make of this. Of her, this way, with someone so foreign as The Iron Bull, Qunari leader of a mercenary group. The thought of them in absolute shock and horror amused her to no end.

“ _Please_ ,” She repeated, looking up at him with heavy eyes, licking her lips. “I _need_ you to fuck me.”

With a small nod, he allowed her to take off the final fabric that kept his body from her. Then he ordered her to turn around, and he used one of the silk ribbons to tie her hands behind her back. This time, he let her keep her vision. Roughly, he bent her over so her face pressed against the expensive sheets. Dragging his nails down her back, he landed a hard slap on her ass and watched the grin take over her face. The Iron Bull was gracious enough to position her so she could watch in the mirror as he took her. Heaving her raised hips towards him, he pushed into her with a groan.

Every part of her tightened around him, so completely and fully _filled_. Her fingers reached back out of impulse, just so deeply wanting to touch him. Any part of him. He wasted no time building up her need this time. Some days he would draw her out for hours upon hours, coaxing one orgasm after another until she couldn’t tell sky from ground. There was a kindness in this cruelty, but it wasn’t what she needed today. Today, she needed to feel something that could keep her mind out of Adamant Fortress. Out of the Fade.

He slammed into her, fingers digging deep into her flesh. The Inquisitor took pleasure in the fact that he so purely reflected her hunger, shared in her desire. The Iron Bull delved himself into the depths of her, pushing her body to its limits. Cursing under his breath, he pushed into her again and again, each time picking up speed.

So much of the Inquisitor’s sex life had happened in places where she had to keep quiet, had to be aware of who was in the next room or downstairs at the party or what would happen if she was caught. These were no longer concerns of hers, though, and the Bull took _great_ liberty in making her aware of this face. Of exposing her to this new way of being with someone.

If she’d fucked like this back in Ostwick, she probably would have been symbolically burned off the family tree. The sixth most illustrious family of Ostwick could _never_ be the centre of a scandal like this: of a Trevelyan being so brazen. It would never stand if relatives or dignitaries down in the main hall could hear the echoes of the sturdy bed being pushed to its limits, metal frame scraping against the stone wall with ferocity, of human and Qunari voices competing to prove who was getting off more.

When the Bull got into it—and he always gave himself into the act wholly when he was with her—he got just as primal and animalistic as he did in battle. All of his fury and strength and brute force was translated into the way he fucked her, touched her, growled louder than any beast could. It drove her wild, made her want to be the same way for him.

In their reflection she admired the way his body towered over her, the way she seemed so fragile and breakable in his grasp. A porcelain doll at the mercy of a hammer. She lusted after him, even when he was fucking her, even when he was as near to her as physically possible. For all his ben-hassrath training, though, he still managed to let a tell slip. When he was close, he clenched his teeth significantly more and always felt the need to be much closer to her.

So he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled the Inquisitor up to him, dropping his head to bite at her earlobe before wrapping his hand around her throat. His other hand went between her legs to massage her clit, and she felt her body begin to squirm at the heavy build up in her core again. The Bull tightened his grip on her throat as he moved faster, nearing release. Every heavy breath came out with a growl, and the Inquisitor could feel herself on the edge. When the climax rolled through her body, her muscles clenched around him; the act bringing him to his own end. He thrust into her once, twice, three more times before finally easing out of her.

The Inquisitor collapsed forward, hands still bound behind her back, and let out a whimper. Bull bent over her, biting deeply into her shoulder, and freed her hands. After a moment he settled down beside her, watching as she turned to face him. They were a sweaty and breathless mess, but it didn’t stop him from reaching out to brush the hair back from her face.

“Better?” He asked in a dangerous voice. She nodded once before finding the strength to move closer to him. She could feel the mixture of both their release on her legs, sticky as she shifted.

“ _Much_.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nightmares were something that the Inquisitor had gotten used to since the Conclave. They usually revolved around a fear of failing, but the more things she encountered the more fuel her mind had to warp things in the fade to terrify her. Most times that she woke up, she could easily shake the feeling.

But not this time.

When she first washed back into the waking world, she had no control over her body. A paralysis of sorts had taken over while her mind reeled. It made it even worse for when she finally could move again: the fear was multiplied by a dozen factors. Most of all, though, was the content of her dream. Now and then she would dream of her time spent in the strange future of Alexius’ spell-gone-wrong. It wasn’t exactly new for her to see Cassandra, see her Iron Bull filled with resolve and march out to face Corypheus’ armies. What hurt more than that was the sight of their bodies being thrown into the hall at Leliana’s feet. She had dealt with that a number of times: but this night, it was different.

Corypheus had descended onto Skyhold after her victory at The Winter Palace, and he had singled Bull out. Tortured, destroyed, murdered him before her eyes. She knew there were fear demons in the fade, but she must have sent out a signal to the hungriest of them for such a dream to be fed to her. The whole experience left her shaking and stumbling, kicking off the sheets and scrambling to put on her boots. It was dark outside, but she could not tell if it was closer to dusk or dawn. All she knew was that she needed to find him.

In the back of her mind, she knew that it was just a bad dream. As she descended the stairs to the main hall, she knew that he would be fine. But the need was there to see him and it would not listen to logic or reasoning. Judging by the fact that there were still torches lit around the courtyard, it was not so late that everyone would have called it a night. In fact, as she drew close to the tavern she could still hear a group of soldiers laughing—some even singing (albeit, poorly) a song with Maryden the Bard.

But when she entered the place, wiping the sweat from her brow and attempting to appear calm, she found that the Bull was not in his spot. Fear crept back with a nagging _I told you so_ , and she froze where she stood. With a hard swallow, the Inquisitor looked around frantically for one of the Chargers.

“Krem!” Trevelyan called a little too anxiously. The Lieutenant turned from the group at the bar and noticed her frayed appearance.

“Your Worship?” He steadied himself and tried to appear less drunk than he was.

“Do you know where the Bull went?” She asked more calmly this time. He nodded and pointed upwards.

“Just missed him. Said he needed rest…something about heading to the Hissing Wastes in the morning.”

“Thanks.” She said quickly, turning back to the door. The Inquisitor opted to take the stairs that led to the barracks instead of the ones in the tavern, not wanting anyone else to see her so flustered. When she reached the door that led to the room Bull claimed as his own, her fist slammed against it with more desperation than she’d intended. “Bull? It—It’s me.”

Inside she could hear his heavy footsteps as he came to the door. The gentle noise of metal clinking sounded as he turned the lock and opened the barrier. Relief washed over her at the sight of him alive and unharmed.

“Need someone to warm your bed?” He teased for a moment before truly taking in the sight of her. She entered his room and embraced him immediately. “Kadan, did something happen?”

Just like that, he was on alert. Ready to find and massacre whatever the source of her hypothetical problem was. What had she done to deserve such unfaltering loyalty, such total devotion? When she looked up at him, her hands went to either side of his face and she sighed deeply, eyes watering.

“ _Thank the Maker_.” She breathed. With a slight frown he closed the door and locked it before sitting down on the bed. The Inquisitor walked up to him and he took her calloused hands in his.

“The nightmare again?” He asked calmly, studying her and analyzing ever breath, word, movement she made.

“It was different this time.” She admitted, looking down at their hands. He titled her head up but she kept getting flashes of the horrible scenes from her dream. “Worse. _Much_ worse.”

“What can I do?” When he asked, he was genuine. He had always been like that, even at first. The Iron Bull was blunt and honest and never put on airs. He didn’t grovel at her feet but he didn’t write her off either. He saw her flaws and admired her anyways.

“I just…” Despite everything, she still found it difficult to express how greatly she depended on him. In her low moments, when she doubted (stupidly, as he liked to remind her) whether he truly held on as deeply she did, she remembered their confession a few weeks prior. She’d admitted that she loved him, and he’d promised her the same. Something she hadn’t expected, given his original assertion that _Qunari don’t have sex for love_. But he’d said it, and he’d meant it, which meant that he truly did feel it. The admission only made her need him more. “I just need to be with you right now.”

“Can do.” He nodded, smiling faintly at her and wrapping his arms around her body. She found solace in the heat of him, the overbearing way he was able to envelope her. Sometimes the Inquisitor could disappear into him entirely: he was the safest home she had ever known. The Inquisitor leaned in and kissed him, hoping she could convey all of these things with her lips and tongue, with her calculated touch and press of her legs against his. But she craved more, _needed_ more in a moment like this—and he was aware of this truth.

Under normal circumstances, he would have already gotten out the bondage, the blindfold, the toys they occasionally incorporated. But what the Iron Bull had said their first time still held true: _when it’s a hostile enemy you give them what they want, when it’s someone you_ care _about you give them what the need_. What she needed now was intimacy; what she needed now was to be lost in him as a tangible reality that was hers.

With gentle determination he worked open the buttons of her tunic, but allowed her to take over when her mind caught up with his. The two of them left their clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor, and the Inquisitor crawled onto her Qunari’s lap. He moved back on the bed so her knees could find some traction as she straddled his hips. She could feel him pressing against her, and she reached one hand down to slowly stroke him.

He bit her bottom lip and then kissed her hard, flattening both hands against her bare back. The truth that she would never know was that however much she wanted him, he would always want her more. The Inquisitor had brought him into uncharted territory of _emotional attachment_ and shit, if he’d known how much more intense it made every touch, every kiss, every fuck, he would have jumped on the wagon a long time ago. He burned for her, mind reeling each time she touched him or put her own experience to work. The Iron Bull couldn’t even guess how many times he’d gotten off, nor with how many people. All he knew was that as she pressed the tip of his cock against her clit and then slowly brought him inside her, nothing got better. He would always come back to her because nothing in the world beat the feeling of her warmth and wetness wrapped around him and taking him in. He was so goddamn in love with her.

The Inquisitor’s body tensed and a small whimper escaped her as she grinded down against him. Her hands started on his shoulders for support, for grip, but he used the strength of his core to lean back enough that she didn’t need to. Instead, her hands moved up the back of his head all the way to his massive horns. Tracing the sensitive skin where they protruded, she rolled her hips once more before wrapping her hands around them.

For the Bull, it was one of the most erotic things anyone had done with him in bed. Sure, plenty of people liked the idea of fucking a Qunari because it was taboo, because it was foreign, because it was _risqué_ or whatever. But she didn’t touch them as some trophy to be marvelled at. When she pressed her lips or fingers to them, it was because they were a part of him. As a person, not a body.

It helped that they gave her better leverage, too. The Iron Bull had been so wrapped up in the Inquisitor that he’d missed the look on her face. As much as her body was into it, he knew that some part of her mind was still rattled from the dream. From the idea of losing her weather-beaten, battle-born mercenary.

“I’m right here, _kadan_.” He said in a low voice, wiping at the tear that trailed away despite her best efforts. She looked up at him, eyes heavy and lips parted with a half-stifled moan. “Where I’ll always be.”

Her grip on his horns tightened and she crashed her lips down on his. He took the moment to move them so she lay flat on the bed. He was an overwhelming presence atop of her, a force impossible to ignore. The Iron Bull fixed their bodies so she was comfortable and licked from her collarbone to her jawline.  The Inquisitor let one hand slide down to his cheek, tracing the outline of his eye patch for a brief moment before he pushed into her. It drew a whole-hearted moan from her that meant he finally had her full attention—and he meant to keep it.

When her right hand fell down against the sheets he took the opportunity to lace their fingers together, bringing their joined hands above her head. He could feel as she lifted her hips in an attempt to take him in even deeper, and he was more than happy to comply. The Qunari watched as the Inquisitor’s back arched, breasts moving along with the rhythm of his movements. He wanted to devour her.

He released a growl and she felt it throughout her body. She was thankful that the wildness could exist even when they opted for intimacy. It was unlike their time in Halamshiral entirely. They had found remote rooms or shadowed gardens three times throughout the night to steal a few minutes. She blamed him, really. _Watching you kill all those Venatori just really got me going_ , she teased. In reality, the first time was simply her attempt at consolation and defiance. The nobles obviously didn’t approve of his presence, and so she asked him to fuck her wildly in the trophy room. The second time was because of the fight with the Ventaori, and the third was after they’d danced—drawing _everyone’s_ eye and possibly causing more ruckus than Florianne’s treachery. The third time, she almost _wanted_ to be caught, being louder than necessary a window away from the public gardens. It was the easiest way to fight back against their ridiculous opinions.

The quicker and deeper he moved, the more she began to tense up. He knew it, and worked twice as hard to bring her release. The more time they spent together, the easier it was for her release to in turn mean his. Everything about her climaxing—and him being the one to bring it about—riled him up.

“Don’t stop.” She begged, looking up at him with hazy eyes. He smirked, but obeyed and vowed to keep the pace for as long as she needed. With her previous lovers in Ostwick, it was always the Maker’s name that she invoked during sex. It was what people did, it was the norm, a habit. But with her Qunari, that had changed. She prayed to the only one who could give her release. She tumbled out praise to the one who had taken her over, body and soul. “ _Iron Bull. Iron Bull. Iron Bull.”_

The way she moaned his name was as good as the feeling of her body wrapped around his. He was breathing heavy by now—the both of them were—a duo of sweat and tense muscles desperate for release. Her back arched and her head fell back against the pillow, red hair pooling around her like the haloed images of Andraste. _The Herald, indeed_. She rippled around him, but it was the final scream of his name that undid him. He gripped her tightly and all but roared, staying in the warmth of her as he came as hard as she did.

“ _Maker_.” She heaved out in a raspy voice, winding down and slowly coming back into her body. The Inquisitor looked up at him and the mercenary laid his forehead down against hers. When the both of them had caught their breath, he laid down beside her and pulled her body against his. With one arm wrapped securely around her, she was able to curl up.

They lay there in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. The Hissing Wastes did, in fact, await them the next day. But the both of them knew she would ask him to join her. It was always a mixture of wanting to keep him safe and wanting to keep him close, and leaving him at Skyhold never guaranteed the first. Hell, if she ever _did_ choose to leave him there he probably would have shown up anyways out of stubbornness—and his _own_ need to make sure he could look out for her. Not that she needed it, as she’d proven a thousand times over.

“You know what you could use?” The Iron Bull said in a husky voice. The Inquisitor looked up at him with sultry eyes, mind immediately going to dark places. “A massage, maybe a nice long bath. Add some crystal grace to the water…”

“Bull, have you been reading Varric’s books?” She teased, propping herself up on his chest. He grinned at her and reached out to stroke her hair.

“I just want you to be relaxed and rested, kadan.” He said simply, watching as she kissed his palm. After a moment he gave her a darker look. “And it gives me another excuse to have my hands all over you.”

“Now _that_ sounds like the more honest answer.” The Inquisitor challenged. She took in a peaceful breath and let it out before sitting up. As the two of them got dressed –an act which would be reversed the moment they were in her quarters—she paused as she pulled the dragon’s tooth necklace over her head. Toying with the thing in her grasp, she looked up at her Qunari. “I love you, my Iron Bull.”

“I love you too, _kadan_.”


End file.
